


How could anything else matter?

by carpethefanfics



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Clubbing, Drinking, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, Lets just say its happy okay, Light Angst, Little surprise at the end that I don't want to tag, M/M, Making Love, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Oral, Porn With Plot, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Smoking, Swearing, Thoughts of Violence, Top Ian Gallagher, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23909278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpethefanfics/pseuds/carpethefanfics
Summary: Mickey’s jealous.But then again, when is Mickey not jealous. He’s standing at the bar with his shoulders so tense and his jaw so gritted he might pop a blood vessel. But honestly, it’s like everywhere they go lately people are picturing fucking Ian right in front of him. And he isn’t sure just how much longer he can take of it.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 11
Kudos: 241





	How could anything else matter?

Mickey’s _jealous_.

But then again, when is Mickey **not** jealous. He’s standing at the bar with his shoulders so tense and his jaw so gritted he might pop a blood vessel. But honestly, it’s like everywhere they go lately people are picturing fucking Ian right in front of him. And he isn’t sure just how much longer he can take of it. It makes him absolutely fucking furious when he’s trying to order at a restaurant and the waiter’s eyes keep veering off to peer at Ian. _Sorry what the order again sir?_ It makes him want to bloody his knuckles on every asshole who looks them over twice just to send the goddamn message that when they’re walking down the street people’s eyes should fucking **avert**. 

But he knows he’s being a little _too_ melodramatic so he takes a deep breath, curls his hands into fists and presses his blunt nails into his palms to calm the fuck down. It’s something he had developed over the last few times he had shoved some dude into a brick wall with his forearm against their throat and Ian’s soft apologetic eyes pulling him back to reality. With his parole, and Ian’s, he’s not about to risk what he has, or what _they_ have, just to fuck some prick up. Even if it means he gets wound up every single goddamn time Ian leaves the goddamn house. Even if it means he has to accompany him to every stupid club night his idiot sister drags them on which is exactly what they’re doing tonight and _exactly_ why his whole body is so tense.

The moment they had gotten to Boystown he had been ready to fuck up someone’s night. Hell, when Ian had thrown on those tight clubbing jeans and slipped into a shirt that was way too tight across his broad shoulders, **fuck** \- Mickey had almost put his fist through a wall. It was going to take a lot of alcohol to get him through this. And he could have sworn Ian almost looked _amused_ watching Mickey’s eyes narrow and his eyebrows furrow. Like he knew Mickey’s heart rate had already picked up. But then Ian slipped his hands around Mickey’s neck, massaged his nails gently into the back of Mickey’s head and _thanked_ him for being such a good sport. With a quick peck on the mouth they were out the door into the hot Chicago summer and the sprawling clusterfuck that was about to be Mickey Milkovich’s night. 

He knew Ian was hot, alright. He knew other guys, other people really, would do a double take every now and then. Trust him, he was very, _very_ aware. And sure, Ian had told him countless times how much he loved him, how much he loved Mickey’s body and how hot he thought Mickey was. All that shit. God, when Ian was lying on top of him thrusting deep inside of him, one hand gripping Mickey’s thigh and the other gripping the back of his neck, Ian’s mouth was _relentless_ with that shit. _Fuck Mick, you’re so fucking hot_. Ian couldn’t shut up if he tried. _God dammit Mickey, could watch you forever._ And honestly, Mickey didn’t want him to shut up. _This ass is mother fucking mine._ In fact, right now, standing at the bar, he wished Ian would just bend him over. At least that way, maybe everyone would hear Ian moan those things and fuck right off.

You know what was the ultimate kicker though? Ian didn’t even seem to notice or care. Consider tonight, here Mickey was trying to get the bartender’s attention long enough to order them a round and the guy’s eyes were already shooting straight to Ian’s profile. The guy was making no attempts at hiding his interest the longer he stared. Rather, the tenser Mickey’s jaw got, the wider this fucker’s smile got whenever Ian’s head almost turned his way. And, of course, Ian was leaning back on the bar inadvertently posed like some kind of Calvin Klein model so, Mickey took one his deep breaths and bounced his shoulder casually off Ian’s, “This bartender is taking his sweet fucking time. Let’s just hit the one at the back.” 

Ian furrowed his brow and the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, “Nah Mick, I got this.” The moment Ian turned around and leaned forward to catch the bartender’s eye, Mickey thought he was going to deck the both of them just to get them all kicked out.

“What can I get you _sexy_?”

Yeah, Mickey’s skin was itching next to Ian, blood boiling, all the classic Milkovich rage building up. But Ian just rattled off an order with that beautiful full mouth smile on his face as he dropped his arm so that Mickey could feel the full expanse of Ian’s hot palm on his lower back; the idiot bartender flirting his ass off the entire time. Ian’s skin was grounding. But Mickey still counted to mother fucking ten one more time, threw down the bills and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying the exact slew of insults that what was going through his mind. He ended up chugging both his drinks just to cool the rapid-fire thoughts of **murder** in his brain, much to Ian’s soft laughter. “Slow down champ, we got all night.” Mickey cringed at the words, **all goddamn night?** He just nodded as he dropped the now empty drinks to the bar top and averted his eyes from Ian’s hoping he could read his mind for once. _  
_

_If I slow down, I may actually kill someone_. 

As the night drove on it almost seemed like they would make it through the whole stupid event without incident and Mickey could happily take **_his_** **_boyfriend_** home. Ian had been on the dance floor with Mandy and some pretty little blonde for a while and Mickey was comfortably numb leaning on the rails nursing a watered-down whiskey. He was not one for dancing and this, well this gave him a view of all the idiots who were probably going to try something and the one idiot who eventually did. It was definitely too bad for him, and ever worse for Mickey who apparently lived in a world where everything was **shit.** Even on his one night off. But that was fine because also in Mickey’s world, shit got solved with black eyes and bloody noses.

The guy had slung one hand around Ian’s waist and pulled Ian back against him **_hard-_** bringing his dick right against Ian’s ass. The guys mouth went straight for the back of Ian’s neck and Mickey saw absolute fucking red. Hell, he didn’t even take another breath before he was storming through the crowd, wrenching the guy’s arm off Ian and using his other to cut off the guy’s air supply.

“I highly suggest you back the _fuck_ up you dumb **fucker**.”

The guy’s eyes instantly started to bulge, and Mickey wasn’t sure if it was from his fingers tightening around the dude’s throat or the not so subtle threat. But before he could really get in the guy’s face he was being pulled back into a very familiar chest with very familiar hands and being spun right around. 

“What the hell Mick!? You’re going to get us kicked out!”

At first, he thought the building anger inside him was from the volatile combination of alcohol, hot men imagining dragging their tongues all over what was **his,** the pounding of trashy club music and the seventy thousand bright flashing lights that might give him a seizure. But now, now the anger was Ian pulling him away from some stupid prick looking at him like he was the insane one.

“Did you want that guy’s junk rubbing all over you?!” Mickey’s sure his voice is much too high pitch and going to be very hoarse from how loudly he has to yell but he was staring incredulously at Ian. _Was he for real?_

“No! But I could have dealt with it!” Ian’s eyebrows are rising up his forehead and Mickey could swear he almost looks annoyed.

“Oh by asking him what? To politely pull his dick out of your ass?!” Mickey can’t believe what he’s hearing. This guy was basically ready to run his hand down Ian’s stomach and grip him through his jeans on the dance floor, but somehow, he’s the one in the wrong?

“What the- it was just grinding Mickey-”

Mickey’s stomach completely drops,“Just grinding? Just grind- Okay Ian, okay, you know what? **Fuck you**. Fucking enjoy your grinding.”

It took Mickey all but half a second of complete and utter buzz-killing rage to rip his arm out of Ian’s hold and get the hell out of the club. He could hear the urgency of his name over the club music but nothing was stopping him now. When he broke through the front entrance, he just kept pounding forward one foot in front of the other blindly hoping his anger would temper off before he ran into someone and lit them up. He pulled his cigarettes out of his jeans and chain smoked the whole walk. He knew he couldn’t make it home entirely on foot, it was nearly three and a half hours through some sketchy ass neighbourhoods and as fucking pissed off as Mickey was, he wasn’t looking to get shot. So, he walked for the better part of an hour and then found his way to the L with no Ian in sight.

The entire ride home he couldn’t help his mind from racing with each cigarette he lit and each uncontrollable bounce of his knee. Maybe Ian wanted those stupid fucking pretty boys gawking over him? Maybe he liked getting the attention from dudes who were better looking with bigger bank accounts? It probably wasn’t entirely fair to assume but honestly, what the fuck was he supposed to think? Sure Ian had said things to Mickey about the two of them and what he wanted for them and all that gooey love bullshit. But people lied to other people about that all the time. Maybe he had meant it and now he didn’t? That kind of shit happened right? Why should they be any different? 

When the train came to a stop and he started heading toward their neighbourhood on the South Side those racing thoughts were starting to hurt his chest. What if he had lost him for good this time? Pushed too far? I mean, there’s only so many times you can go berserk before people don’t want to put up with you. He had seen it with practically every adult in his life. One partner is always too much to handle... it’s why his mom had left. 

He doesn’t even notice no one is home when he slams the front door shut, strips himself down to his boxers and slams his fist through one of his bedroom walls. Searing pain always helped to calm his thoughts so why not try to pull the chaos out and leave it there? He sits on the edge of his bed, lighting up another smoke from his bedside table hoping he’ll get enough of a reprieve focusing on his throbbing knuckles. 

But honestly, he’s not home even ten minutes when he hears the front door open and the footsteps of someone much too heavy to be Mandy. The door to his bedroom opens and he doesn't even have to turn to know whose standing in the doorway. He’s waiting for one of Ian’s typical opening remarks or maybe a stupid quip about how he’s already ready for bed but he just hears him toeing off his shoes and rounding the bed. When Ian comes into view his cheeks are flushed against that beautiful freckled skin and his eyes glossy.

“What the hell did you do to your hand Mick?”

Ian crouches in front of him and takes Mickey’s knuckles into his irritatingly large hands, caressing the skin softly. Maybe it’s the fact that Ian still looks absolutely fucking gorgeous or the way he’s kneeling before him or the level of concern in his voice, but it goes right to Mickey’s dick. He’s trying to shake off the way Ian gets under his skin, the way Ian _knows_ he gets under Mickey’s skin, but when Ian’s other hand goes to rest on Mickey’s thigh... he knows he’s **_fucked_**.

“Wall.”

Mickey grunts, he’s trying to keep his answers clipped and short because while his body is definitely betraying him, his mind can’t stop seeing the image of that guy’s hand wrapped around Ian’s waist. 

“Mickey what’s-”

But then he’s pulling his hand out of Ian’s gentle touch and moving to the other side of the room, “Maybe it’s better if we don’t do this.”

Ian’s face goes from surprise to hurt in a matter of seconds and Mickey’s chest _aches_. It’s like the two of them are idiot kids all over again where he can’t say what he means and Ian can’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to notice that. He curses them both as he crushes the rest of the smoke against his dresser and then wonders how he could have possibly let a _Gallagher_ get this far into his head. 

“What the hell happened tonight Mick?”

Ian’s got this pleading look on his face, his arms slightly out at his sides and his palms turned up in utter confusion. He’s staring at him no matter how many time Mickey fidgets or knocks a beer can off his dresser to the ground like he’s searching Mickey’s nervous movements from some kind of answer. They had been together on-and-off for so long now it almost pisses him off that Ian hadn’t come in the way he expected. A few years ago, Ian would have been practically up the wall knocking his fist off Mickey’s jaw and pinning him to the bed just to fuck the life out of him, just to make Mickey look him in the eye. But they do _feelings_ and _communicating_ now. Ian had gone on about healthy relationships or some shit.

“You _enjoy_ it?”

Ian’s face scrunches up even more confused and Mickey wants to knock his teeth out even more for not noticing.

“The men, Ian. The ones who eye fuck you down the street. The ones who look like they want you to bend them over the bar or the table or the counter or wherever the fuck we are. Practically fucking begging like dogs to get your cock in their mouths.”

And then Ian does something that riles Mickey up even more than he thought he possibly could, he **_smiles_**.

“What the actual **fuck** are you smiling at you ginger cocksuc--”

And then Ian’s on him before he can finish. He’s pulling his shirt off as he crosses the room and pretty much collides with Mickey to thrust him up against the wall beside the bedroom door. 

**“I’m not going anywhere.”**

Before Mickey can register Ian’s words, he’s got his hands around Mickey’s neck pulling his mouth to him and _holy fucking shit_ he can’t recall the last time Ian kissed him so **_dirty_**. It’s hot and wet and open-mouthed with his tongue fucking into Mickey’s mouth like he needs him to breath. Mickey’s hands go right to Ian’s waist and grip him for dear life. His head practically bounces off the wall and Ian’s grinding against him almost painfully, but _fuck_ its good and hard and Mickey’s dick is rock solid at the feeling of Ian and of the jeans that Ian’s still wearing. 

Ian pulls back for a brief second, barely giving Mickey a moment to breathe or collect himself. His head is practically spinning from the force of Ian and the feel of him _everywhere_. Ian pops the button of his jeans and drops them, moving one hand back to grip Mickey’s neck while the other reaches into his briefs and wraps around his cock. Mickey’s eyes go wide staring into Ians and he feels his throat tighten.

**“I don’t want anyone but you.”**

Then Ian’s on him again. He’s all limbs and strong hands and _god_ that fucking mouth that just won’t relent. Ian’s working his way down Mickey’s neck with swollen red lips and his wet tongue. It’s making the pit of Mickey’s stomach practically burn with need and want as he trails down his chest. He’s stunned from the feeling. He wants to tell Ian to _hurry the fuck up_ , _stick his dick in him_ f _or gods sake_ , but it feels like one of those nights where Ian wants to take his time. Where Ian wants to make Mickey come _undone_.

He pulls back slightly and takes Mickey’s hand into his. He puts it between them and drags Mickey’s palm up the length of Ian’s cock. It feels so thick and hard in Mickey’s hand that he’s pulled right out of his head only to stare straight into those heady, burning hazel eyes.

**“Goddammit Mick, don’t you know how much I want you? Only you?”**

Ian’s voice is like silk and Mickey is breathless from the kissing and the heat and Ian’s words. Ian is all-consuming, single minded to the point of recklessness and Mickey has never been able to get enough. He can't tear his eyes away as Ian removes his hand and drops to his knees. Mickey looks down into those big hazel eyes just as Ian drags his briefs to his ankles and licks up the length of his cock. Mickey’s open palms hit the wall to hold himself up as his eyes roll and his head lulls backwards. Ian takes his time licking and sucking and hollowing out his cheeks. He’s moaning around Mickey’s dick as one hand rubbing his thigh moves backwards to grip Mickey’s ass while the other bruises his hip lifting Mickey off the wall so he’s fucking into Ian’s mouth. _Jesus Gallagher_. Mickey’s breathless and so fucking turned on. He lifts his hands from the wall to run through Ian’s hair, gripping the back of his head and thrusting into the wet heat of his mouth. Ian’s cheeks are still flushed, his hair mused, and the way he’s looking up at Mickey could bring him to his knees.

_“Fuck- gunna cum-”_

The words are so soft through the moaning that Mickey’s surprised Ian even heard him but in the next second he wishes he had never said anything because Ian pops his mouth off and Mickey’s eyes fly open. Ian flips him around quickly as he rises to full height again that Mickey’s heart starts racing. He’s not pressing Mickey too harshly into the wall this time, but Mickey can feel his deep breathing against his neck.

**“You look so fucking gorgeous like this Mick.”**

Mickey can’t tell if time stops or his heart stops but the words are like a jolt of lighting up his back every time. He barely has time to relish in it before Ian’s hands are painfully gripping his hips and shoving him face first into the bed. Before Mickey can turn around and look Ian’s got his hands gripping Mickey’s ass and his face buried. His tongue is already wet and hot and Mickey can feel the saliva. He wants to wonder how Ian’s tongue can make him feel so much in so many different ways but he can barely function with the way he’s writing against the mattress. He’s sweating and rutting against the bed practically begging Ian to get the fuck inside him, mumbling something about how much he needs him when he feels two of Ian’s thick fingers breach him.

“ _Holy mother of god_ -”

It burns but damn does Ian ever know what he needs when he needs it. He’s thrusting back into Ian’s fingers as Ian stretches him, relishing in the way Ian makes him feel.

**“Look at you. So fucking hot. Everything I want.”**

“Would you _just_ \--”

Ian already knew Mickey was getting impatient the longer it was just his tongue and his fingers inside him so the moment Mickey get’s enough brain function to mouth off, Ian wraps his fingers around his cock and thrusts. He takes Mickey slow and deep, letting his hands lift Mickey’s hips as his breath comes out shallow, as his words turn to dust and moans. The moment he’s got his hips up enough Ian flips him onto his back and thrusts until he’s fully inside Mickey. He takes both wrists in one hand above Mickey’s head who looks up at him with those beautiful, blown up blue eyes. 

**“You’re it for me Mick. You’re it.”**

He pounds into Mickey at a relentless pace just the way Mickey likes it. He’s writhing beneath him on the bed and the noises are going straight to Ian’s cock. He wants nothing more than to make Mickey come untouched but it’s clear when he releases Mickey’s wrists to raise his hips just a little higher Mickey has other plans. He uses the raised hips to gain some footing and flip Ian onto his back so he’s riding him. His whole body coming down in time to meet Ian’s hips. They’re both a sweaty, heated mess and Mickey can’t help but lean down to kiss him exactly the way Ian had before, nothing but tongues and bitten lips. He delves his tongue into Ian’s mouth just as Ian wraps his hand around Mickey’s dick and before he knows it his orgasm hits him full force. When he breathlessly says Ians name he feels Ian come undone inside of him. 

Mickey collapses onto Ian briefly, feeling the heaving of Ian’s sweaty chest and the pounding of their heartbeats. Their legs are intertwined and Ian’s running his fingers along the small of Mickey’s back. Mickey is sure his neck is littered with bruises and he had totally forgotten about the now-dull throbbing in his hand. He’s listening to Ian’s contented breathing, smelling the cologne on his skin. He feels Ian’s other hand slip into his and Mickey can’t help the smile or the warmth that spreads to his toes.

**“I love you Mickey.”**

Mickey always takes a moment when he hears the words leave Ian’s lips. There had been a time he had thought he would never hear them, when he would never say them, but this time, this time he barely has a moment to breath them in before everything flips.

**“Marry me.”**

His heart practically stops as his head lifts off Ian’s chest so fast he may have given himself whiplash. But Ian’s looking at him like everything in the world is so good and so right and so perfect. Like the outside world has vanished and there’s nothing in the universe but the two of them in this room. His eyes are just as blown out as Mickey’s and he’s got these beautiful red marks on his chest from where Mickey gripped him while he rode him. He’s smiling, its soft and sweet and almost too blindingly lovesick for Mickey to look at but he can’t tear his eyes away. 

**“Say yes.”**

He tilts his side to the side as Ian does and lifts the hand not clasped in Ian’s to run through his hair and down the side of his face. He almost can’t remember a world outside of this moment. Can’t remember why he ever gave a goddamn about idiots checking out at Ian because here Ian was, taking his breath away, looking absolutely stunning and asking him to spend their lives together. _How could anything else matter?_

**“Yes.”**

_You know ... a ring will definitely keep those fuckers off._

**Author's Note:**

> https://carpetheotherfandoms.tumblr.com/post/616801489038475264/how-could-anything-else-matter


End file.
